A Grain of Truth
by TrinityC
Summary: The truth behind the fairytale 'The Elf and the Warrior'. *Chapter 5* In which the Prince finally manages to visit his new friend.
1. The Indignity of Having to be Rescued

Well, here it is, the 'truth' behind the fairytale "The Elf and the Warrior", or at least part of it, in which the inconsistencies caused by the tale being handed down through generations of Men should be ironed out. Those of you who were hoping for the identity of the Prince to be revealed, I hate to disappoint you but I'm afraid you'll have to use your imaginations. In other words, he can be whoever you want him to be. Lucky you!

If you haven't read the fairytale yet, here it is: http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=1202132

Thanks to those who reviewed "The Elf and the Warrior" and asked for this to be posted - you've given me an excuse to do so! Specially big thanks to Becki for helping me get it into shape, and Laiqalasse for the beta job and horse knowledge.

Disclaimer: If you think you recognise anyone, they don't belong to me but to Professor Tolkien. Written for love, not money.

**A Grain of Truth**

Chapter One  
The Indignity of Having to be Rescued

Swinging her sword for what felt like the hundredth time, she swore under her breath at the embarrassment of it all. It wasn't as if it was her first mission, or even her fifth, and she had fought orcs before and won. So why was she having such trouble dispatching the four that had set upon her on the road through the forest? She had sent the first two on to their maker easily enough, and the third was only a couple of slashes away from joining them, but her sword was beginning to drag at her arms, and her legs were becoming heavier and heavier. She was beginning to wonder if she would have the strength to finish off the fourth before it battered her to the ground and cut her to pieces.

With a heavy swing she neatly decapitated the third orc, letting the follow-through bring her around to face the last one. It grinned nastily, obviously relishing the thought of her imminent slaughter. Enraged, she slashed forward and caught it across the arm, swearing all the way. But it knew she was tiring, and it attacked her with more force than ever. She parried its blows as best she could, but the gash in her thigh and the slash across her ribs given her by its companions were sapping her strength still further, and she was not sure how long she could hold her ground.

Just as she was resigning herself to an early and bloody death, something shot past her ear with an unmistakable whizz and buried itself in her assailant's throat. It was followed immediately by another which struck the orc in the eye. The creature grunted in surprise and keeled over backwards, and moved no more.

She wanted to check that it was dead, but found that her legs did not want to carry her over to it. Instead she leaned on her sword, momentarily stunned by her narrow escape from the orc, and her even more narrow escape from whoever it was had killed it.

"Are you all right?" a soft voice hailed her and she slowly turned to look in the direction it and the arrows had come from. Her eyesight had blurred with fatigue and she could only make out a tall, slender figure with a bow and quiver slung across its back. It seemed to be moving towards her with a kind of liquid grace and suddenly she felt as though she was dreaming. She shook her head to disperse the sensation but that only made her disorientation worse.

"Are you all right?" the figure asked her again, coming closer. She tried to answer but no words could fight their way out of her throat. She coughed, and tried again.

"I will be, in a moment." She swayed on her feet, then just as her rescuer reached her, her legs finally gave way and, to her chagrin, she found herself collapsing into his arms. She bit back a cry of embarrassment and pain as he caught her and lowered her gently to the ground. He kept his arm behind her shoulders to support her as she sat and regained her composure. Now that the adrenaline of the fight had receded, her wounds were beginning to make their presence known. She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain, then opened them to find the most beautiful creature she had ever seen looking at her with an expression of infinite concern and tenderness. She took in the delicate bone structure, the luminous blue eyes, the silken hair and pointed ears, and her heart sank, because in that moment she knew two things with utter certainty. Firstly, that she had fallen hopelessly, irretrievably in love with her rescuer; and secondly, that she was doomed. The looks, the grace and the deadly accuracy with the bow could mean only one thing. Her rescuer was an Elf. Not only was he immortal, as far as he was concerned she was as far beneath him as the forest floor from the treetops. Everything she had ever heard about the Elves returned to haunt her; they were cold, distant, arrogant and snobbish, never deigning to consort with ordinary humans.

A wave of utter despair engulfed her, and she had to swallow hard to fight back the tears that threatened to fall. She might be a failure as a mercenary, she might be a poor, useless human female, but she would not let the Elf see her cry.

After a moment, she made herself look up at him and smile. "Sorry for collapsing on you. And thanks. I thought I'd had it there." She forced a flippant tone and just managed to get the words out without gasping in pain.

"My pleasure," he smiled in return. "How bad are your wounds? Can you stand?"

"I'm not sure. I think I'll live, but I'm in no fit state to go and look for my horse. He disappeared at the first sign of battle, the coward."

Her rescuer laughed. "He'll come to you when he realises the battle is over. Do you think you could get off the road and into the trees, if I help you? From the amount of blood I can see, your wounds need attention and it will be much easier and safer for me to tend to them away from the road."

She managed to suppress an exclamation of surprise that this exalted creature should deign to help her, concluding that he must have his reasons. He could, after all, have left the orc to finish her off.

Gritting her teeth and hanging onto the Elf's arm and shoulders for dear life, she managed to get to her feet and then leaned against him as he helped her off the road. He settled her with her back against a tree and went back to retrieve her sword and drag the corpses of the orcs into the underbrush, intending to strip them of anything of use or value once he had dressed her wounds.

By the time he returned to her, carrying her sword and the small pack that she had been forced to drop when the orcs attacked, she had risked a glance down at her leg and had been worried by what she saw. There was a rapidly spreading bloodstain covering the front of her leg from hip to below the knee and judging by the pain, she had a slash right across her thigh. She thanked her stars that her breeches laced up the side. Having an Elf remove them for her would have been the final indignity. She undid the laces from the bottom up and peeled the cloth away from her skin, not without difficulty and pain, for some of the blood was already drying.

The Elf produced a wad of cloth from somewhere about his person and poured some of the water from her flask onto it. He cleaned the worst of the blood from around the wound but more constantly welled up to replace it.

"It goes deep," he said. "I have herbs in my saddlebags that should stop the bleeding; let me call my horse." He stood up and raised his voice in Elvish. After a moment, the bushes around them rustled and not one but two horses appeared. The first was pure white with a look about him of the mearas of the Rohirrim, and his dark eyes seemed to speak of more than plain horse sense; the second was a somewhat less well-presented bay with a rather sheepish expression on his long face. 

"Oakapple! Where have you been, you coward?" The bay whickered softly and came over to snuffle at his mistress' outstretched hand. Satisfied that she was still among the living, he wandered a few paces away and began grazing on some of the overhanging branches.

"Stupid horse," Oakapple's mistress snorted. "You're lucky yours seems to have a brain beneath his ears."

"I am indeed lucky. Silme is one of the finest in my people's stables, and more intelligent than most. It seems he found your horse as I found you, so perhaps you are lucky too." The Elf turned to his horse and pulled out from one of the saddlebags a roll of exquisitely tooled leather which he unrolled and spread on the ground, picking out a small packet of dried herbs. He shook a few into his palm, dampened them with some more of her precious water and squeezed them into a wad.

"This will hurt," he warned her as he parted the edges of the wound and gently pressed the wad of herbs inside it.

She gritted her teeth against the pain, suddenly feeling light-headed again. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on anything but the sting of the herbs, the slashing pain of the wound, the gentle touch of the Elf's long fingers as he pressed the wound closed.

"Can you lift your leg a little?" His voice interrupted her confused thoughts, and she opened her eyes again as she obediently raised her knee to lift her thigh off the ground. The Elf bound her wound with a strip of soft cloth that seemed to have appeared from nowhere.

"You carry bandages as well?" she queried.

"My people are all trained in the healing arts. When we go abroad, we carry the supplies that we may need. It does not do to be unprepared. You may lower your leg again now."

She obeyed, silently wondering at how her wound already did not hurt as badly and trying not to think about how she had felt when he touched it. 

"Now let me see that gash to your ribs." His voice interrupted her reverie and she came gratefully back to reality. Lifting up her shirt, she leaned her head back against the tree as he cleaned and bound the wound. This time she concentrated on the pain and managed to ignore the soft brushing of his long hair against her bare leg as he leaned over her. Internally, she was despairing of herself. Getting sentimental over anybody was simply not in her repertoire. She might be young, but she was old beyond her years and her life so far had made her cynical, hardened to the sorts of things that made her contemporaries at home swoon and sigh. Yet here she was biting back sighs of her own, and over an Elf! She shook her head in disgust. It must be the blood loss making her dizzy and leeching away her barriers. How incredibly embarrassing this entire situation was. 

To cover up her confusion, she employed her favourite tactic for distracting attention: going on the offensive. "Why are you doing this?" she asked. The question was indeed troubling her, and she was almost unsure that she wanted to find out.

"Because you appear to need help and I am able to give it. What sort of Elf would I be if I simply left you to die?"

"A normal one?" she retorted, hoping to provoke him into a proper answer, but he only laughed.

"You have heard all the tales, then, about we Elves and how we do not trouble ourselves with the affairs of mortals? You should not listen so closely without ascertaining the facts for yourself. It is true that my people generally keep ourselves to ourselves, and that many of us do not trust Men, for the inconstancy of Isildur is within living memory for most of us. But we abhor death and destruction and those who deal in them, especially the orcs. You were putting up a valiant fight against those foul creatures, but I could see that you did not have much left to give. So I intervened. I hope you will forgive me." There was a wry twist to his mouth as he said this last, and she ducked her head slightly, ashamed.

"I am sorry if I caused you offence," she said, stiffly. "I just wondered why you are going so far out of your way to help me." 

"I could not very well kill your assailant and then leave you to bleed to death, now, could I? What would be the point of that? I am a healer more skilled than you, I would wager, and you are in sore need of one. Besides, the moment I fitted the first arrow to my bow, I became involved in your troubles. It would be faithless of me to back out before you had no more need of my help."

"I suppose so. Well, I appreciate the gesture. Thank you. If there is a way to repay you, I shall do so."

"Very well. We appear to have a bargain." He held out his right hand, and she took it in hers and shook it, trying to appear businesslike.

The Elf finished binding her ribs and smoothed her shirt back down. He sat back and surveyed her thoughtfully. "How do you feel now?"

"Better. Thank you. Still not the strongest I could be though, and I'm so hungry I could eat my horse, if I didn't know I'd need the useless creature again."

The Elf laughed. "I am sure he will be more use to you alive than sliced and roasted. Even so, I do not think you will be able to travel onwards this day. As you say, you must regain your strength, and already the evening draws on. I would suggest that we retreat a little further into the forest and pitch camp, then you may continue your journey in the morning. If you are agreeable, of course."

She smiled ruefully as she relaced her breeches. "I don't think I've got much choice, no disrespect. I couldn't ride at the moment if you tied me into the saddle."

"Very well then." He stood up in one smooth, graceful moment, and held out his hand to her. "Here. Allow me."

Determined to be sensible, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet. The sudden movement caused her to stumble, but she caught herself before she fell into his arms again; nevertheless his other hand shot out to steady her and lingered on her arm a moment more than was necessary to ensure she had her balance.

"Be careful," he smiled. 

She felt herself blushing - blushing! she felt as though she would never forgive herself - and covered her embarrassment by coaxing her horse over to her so that she could lean on his flank.

"Very good," said the Elf, "follow me; I know a spot by a stream not far from here. We must replenish your water flask, and I am sure you would be grateful for a chance to wash off some of that orc blood." He gestured to his horse and the creature came to stand attentively beside him. "Come then. It is not far." He set off slowly through the trees, leading his horse, and the warrior girl followed him, leaning on her horse and picking her steps carefully.

In a few minutes they came to a tiny clearing on the banks of a stream. They tethered their horses to a tree, and Oakapple settled himself to grazing on the soft grass that carpeted the clearing. His mistress knelt, with some difficulty, by the side of the stream, but soon changed her mind and manoeuvred herself into a sitting position that did not hurt her thigh so much. She cupped her hands in the cold, clear water and took a deep draught, welcoming the sweet taste in her battle-parched mouth and throat. She splashed some of the water over her face and felt better almost instantly, though she gave an involuntary shiver at how cold the water was. 

"That's better," she gasped, blinking a few stray drops out of her eyes. Her rescuer smiled.

"Good. You are looking a little less fatigued now. Make yourself comfortable while I find some firewood."

He disappeared soundlessly back into the forest, and she shook her head, amused at his imperious tone. He was an Elf, after all, for all his kindness to her.

The Elf stayed close to the clearing as he looked for dry wood for the fire. He did not wish to leave the girl completely alone so soon after she had been wounded, especially if there were other orcs about. She was a tough little thing, but he doubted she was in any fit state to tackle another attack.

She was an odd customer, he decided, and no mistake. Female warriors were not unheard-of, although they were not common either, but this one was unusually young. He was unfamiliar with humans and the speed at which they aged, but he estimated her age at no more than twenty summers. A mere baby, in Elven terms. He smiled at the memory of her obvious discomfiture at having to be rescued. Poor girl. She had probably spent some time proving to the disbelieving males around her that she was as good as, if not better than them, and then to find herself losing a fight? He laughed softly to himself. Probably she was glad that nobody she knew had been around to see it.

She was obviously suspicious of his motives. He was under no illusions about how the Elves were misrepresented in the lands of Men. Their love of life and commitment to preserving it whenever they could obviously did not appear in the myths. He supposed he could not blame her for asking him why he was doing this. A part of him wondered himself why he was going to so much trouble for her. He did not think it was simply his Elven concern for life. He had meant what he said about becoming involved when he set his arrow to the bowstring, but he was going rather further out of his way than he usually would for an injured fellow traveller, especially a human. Perhaps it was that he admired her spirit. She was...he searched for the correct word. Indomitable. That would do nicely. She seemed to refuse to let anything discourage her, while acknowledging her current weakened state.

He was worried about her, though. She had lost far more blood than was healthy, and she looked frighteningly pale and disorientated, even after bathing her face in the stream. The slash across her ribs was not too serious, but the thigh wound was another matter. He thought he had seen bone when he held the wound open to pack it with the herbs, and although they had slowed the bleeding, he was not sure that they would be enough to stop it completely. The short walk to the clearing had opened the wound again, he had noticed when she was sitting by the stream. He would add more herbs to it when he returned with the firewood, and he was afraid that he would have to stitch it closed. That would leave an unsightly scar; his stitching was nowhere near as neat as that of some of the healers among his people. Perhaps he should take her to them. He sighed, knowing the probable reaction; in some respects the myths were not so far off the mark. Still, if it were a matter of life and death they would have no grounds for complaint. He would see how she was in the morning.

He returned to the clearing and swiftly built and lit the fire. The girl was still sitting on the bank of the stream, trailing her fingers in the water and staring off into the woodland. She seemed lost in thought and he was loath to disturb her, but he wanted to make sure she was not drifting off into apathy induced by the blood loss. He went over to her and knelt down beside her, placing one hand on her shoulder. Her head whipped round to face him and he was relieved to see that there was still the spark of awareness in her eyes.

"Will you tend the fire for me while I hunt something for our meal?" he asked, reasoning that she would rather be given a job to do than be fussed over. She nodded briskly.

"All right. You'll have to give me a hand again; my leg is stiffening up."

He took her hand in his, being careful this time to keep his other hand on her shoulder to steady her, and gently pulled her to her feet. She thanked him, which he took as a polite way of telling him that she was perfectly capable of walking the few steps to the camp fire on her own. He dropped his hands, but stayed close beside her as she went, in case she stumbled.

She made it to the fireside without incident and lowered herself carefully to the ground. He hid a smile at her determined expression and wisely decided to leave her to it.

Some time later he returned with a pair of rabbits which he dropped onto the ground beside his companion. She took one and drew a small knife from her belt, swiftly gutting and skinning the animal with practiced ease. He followed suit with the other, and soon the two animals were roasting on makeshift spits over the fire.

When they had eaten their fill, the last sunlight was long gone and the Elf decreed that it was past time for his companion to be going to sleep. Whether he took her to the healers of his people or sent her on her way, she had a long hard day ahead of her and she would need all the sleep she could get. By the light of the fire he redressed her wound, packing it with more of the healing herbs and offering up a silent prayer that it would close and begin to heal itself during the night. When he was finished he unhitched her bedroll from her horse, ignoring her protests that she was quite capable of getting it herself, and spread it out for her beside the fire.

"Enjoy being waited upon," he told her. "I would wager that it is not something which comes often to you. You must rest, or your wound will never close. I will keep watch through the night, for I can rest while still remaining alert." She submitted, though not without some bad-tempered muttering under her breath, which his sharp ears caught with no trouble at all; he was hard put to it to suppress a smile.

When her bed was ready for her she crawled under the blanket with no more argument, suddenly grateful that no more was expected of her that night. Sign of weakness or no, she was utterly exhausted and had been having trouble keeping her eyes open long enough to eat her meal. The last thing she was aware of was the Elf settling himself on the other side of the fire, his bow by his side.

He sat very upright and still, his ears and eyes constantly alert for any sign of danger, though his mind wandered half in dreams. He imagined his people's reaction if he were to bring this girl to them for healing, and hoped that it would not come to that. They would heal her and treat her kindly, but many questions would be asked of him and he was not sure that he would be able to answer them all. Some would be easy: why had he brought her to them? Because her wound would not close and she was in danger of bleeding to death. But some, some he was already asking himself, and he did not know the answers.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by a shuffling sound on the other side of the fire. His eyes snapped into focus to see the girl, still asleep, trying to move herself closer to the fire. She was cold; well, she had certainly lost enough blood to need extra warmth. Standing, he unfastened his cloak and carried it over to her. Softly, so as not to wake her, he tucked the thick woollen material around her, moving her so that she was all but wrapped in it, only her head still visible. She quieted immediately and he returned to his place, satisfied that she would now be warm enough to sleep soundly.

She was quiet for a time, but gradually she began to mutter in her sleep and thrash about under her coverings; he was puzzled at first but when she let out the word "Orcs!" and an unintelligible string of curses he understood. She was having nightmares, reliving her battle. Instinctively he knew that she would not thank him for waking her and telling her that he knew of her dreams; soothing her while she still slept seemed to be the best plan. So very softly he began to sing an old Elven lullaby, one that his mother had sung to him when he was a child and which he thought that he had forgotten until this moment. The words seemed to come unbidden to him and their gentle rhythm and simple melody soon lulled the girl back into silent sleep. He continued to sing for a while, finding that it calmed him too, soothing away the unexplained bolt of fear he had felt when she began to move and to cry out.

The rest of the night passed uneventfully; the girl slept peacefully and the Elf sat unmoving as he watched over her.


	2. On the Road to Being Friends

Thanks again to Laiqalasse and Becki, and to S-Star for the review!

Disclaimer: If you think you recognise anyone, they don't belong to me but to Professor Tolkien. Written for love, not money.

**A Grain of Truth**

Chapter Two

On the Road to Being Friends

When she awoke, she could not at first place herself. The early morning sun was filtering through the leaves and dappling the clearing with light; for a moment she thought herself in paradise. She remembered dreaming of beautiful voices singing in a language she did not understand...she rubbed her eyes and her memory returned, along with nagging aches in all her muscles and a more insistent pain in her leg. Still lying down, she looked about her and caught sight of her rescuer sitting very still on the other side of the still-smouldering fire. The sunlight seemed almost to reflect off him, and for a moment he seemed to her to be not quite of this world, a shining creature of green and golden light. Seeing that she was awake, he smiled warmly and the illusion melted away.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Less tired. More hungry. And I ache all over. So fine, really." She rolled her eyes, and he laughed.

"The hunger I can solve for you. There is enough rabbit left over from last night for you to breakfast well. The aches will pass with time. How is your wound?"

She peeled back the coverings, noticing as she did so that as well as her blanket there was another layer which after a moment she recognised as the Elf's cloak. How did that come to be wrapped so tightly around her? Had he cared enough about her wellbeing that he had sacrificed his warmth for her? The question made her uncomfortable and she shoved it away.

Looking at her leg, she noticed that she had not bothered to lace her breeches back up after he had dressed the wound last night. She firmly squashed the embarrassment she felt, instead peeling back the cloth and inspecting the bandage. There was no fresh blood, but she had the feeling that as soon as she moved the wound would open up again. The Elf saw the look of dismay on her face and hurried over to her. 

"It does not look as though it will heal that easily," he said, undoing the bandage and inspecting the wound. "Any movement or pressure will open it and make it bleed again. I think this injury is proving to be beyond my skill to heal. If you are agreeable I will take you to my people; there are much better healers there than I."

"Do they heal humans?" she asked, only half provokingly. No matter how kind this one was, she was still suspicious of Elves in general.

"They will heal anyone who comes to them in need," he said, in a tone of gentle rebuke. "Except perhaps yrch. Those, I think, they would leave to die." He smiled, and was gratified to see her smile in return. "Besides," he continued, "they will do what I ask them to do. I am a Prince among my people and they owe me obedience." He smiled self-deprecatingly but this time did not receive another smile in return.

A Prince! The warrior girl was horrified. Not only an Elf, but a Prince among Elves! This was just getting worse and worse. She thought of all the outspoken things she had said and was beginning to stammer out an apology, but the Prince touched his hand to her shoulder and she was so stunned that he had touched her other than to heal her, that she stopped in her tracks.

"Please," he said, "do not treat me any differently. I do not expect deference from my friends, and I do not expect it from you. I would hope that the bargain we struck yesterday leaves us at least on the road to being friends?"

She nodded mutely, robbed of all her words. Then a thought struck her and she could not help smiling.

"What is it?" asked the Prince.

"I was just thinking of some of the girls I know back home, who sneered and made fun of me when I went off to become a mercenary. They would not be sneering now, I think. If being a mercenary gets you rescued by an Elven Prince, they would be queueing up to learn swordsmanship." She laughed. "Although I do not think they would appreciate the cuts and bruises. Blood does not compliment this season's colours." She laughed, and the Elf laughed with her, a low, musical sound; suddenly she wondered if she had dreamed the voices singing to her in her sleep.

He sobered quickly, and reached behind him to the fireside. "Here. There is enough rabbit left from our meal last night for you to break your fast well." He passed her a handful of shredded meat but did not take any for himself.

"What about you?" She accepted the food, but looked questioningly at her rescuer.

"I do not need it as much as you do. Besides, should I become hungry, I am carrying Elven waybread, which is enough to satisfy any pangs of hunger."

The girl shrugged and ate her breakfast. If her rescuer was in the mood to be charitable, she was not going to throw it back in his face. Besides, she was famished and did not know when she would get the chance for such a meal again.

While she ate, the Elf was packing up their camp, ready to move on. He put out the fire and covered it with earth; taking the water bottles, he filled them at the stream. When everything was packed up and loaded onto the horses, he held out his hand to her and pulled her to her feet.

"Do you need help mounting your horse, or can you do it alone?"

His words sounded like a challenge, and the warrior was even more determined than ever to rise to anything he threw at her feet. She walked unaided to her horse and climbed into the saddle, perhaps ungracefully but at least she had not needed help. The Elf did not bother hiding his smile, but he did not say anything, instead leaping onto his own horse's back; for the first time the girl noticed that he did not use saddle or bridle, but rode bareback and with only his words to guide the animal. She was a little jealous; if she had to name one quality of Oakapple's that she would rather change, it would be his absolute inability to follow spoken orders without a physical reminder to back them up.

Some time later, she was wishing that Oakapple could also walk just a little bit more smoothly. The jolting gait of her horse had caused her wound to open up again, and every step he took made a hot knife slash through her thigh. So far she had managed to hide her discomfort from the Elf, but she knew it was only a matter of time before he looked back and his keen eyes noticed the new bloodstain on her breeches.

Even as she thought it, her companion glanced back at her and, catching the grim expression of suppressed pain on her face, suggested a brief stop to catch their breath. She tried to protest, saying that they had not been riding fast enough to need a breather, but the Prince was having none of it. He had decided it was time to stop, and stop they would. He halted his horse and jumped lightly down from the saddle, appearing at her side before she had even had time to think of dismounting. He helped her to the ground, catching her in his arms when her exhausted legs would not hold her, and helped her to sit down on a rock beside the road.

"Your wound is getting worse," he observed, unlacing her breeches himself this time. She tried to protest but found that she did not have the energy; instead she let him examine the wound and redress it with yet another strip of soft cloth and even more herbs. He shook his head in dismay. "The jolting of your horse is reopening the wound and making it bleed still further. I am sorry to say that I think you will have to ride with me." As he had expected, she began to protest, but he held up his hand and she subsided. "Silme has a much smoother walk than Oakapple, and if I am there to hold you steady we may yet get you to my people before you lose too much blood."

"Oh, very well," she acquiesced, hating her body for betraying her in such a way. How was she ever to convince him that she was a worthy warrior? He had seen her at her absolute weakest, and she was not sure she could forgive either herself or her rescuer for that. Still, she did not see any other choice. If she wanted to be healed, she would have to ride with him, and to accept that she was at her weakest and there was nothing she could do about it. She successfully squashed the small voice that told her that it would be rather nice to ride with the Elven Prince.

When he decided she had rested enough, the Prince readied his horse to take the extra passenger. He transferred his pack to Oakapple, retrieving a blanket which he folded up and laid over Silme's shoulders. He then led his horse over to where the warrior was sitting, and went to his knees in front of her.

"I am sorry for the indignity, but I think it would be best if you allowed me to lift you onto my horse."

She gave a small laugh, unwilling to acknowledge how much her pride was injured. "I don't think I have a choice, do I? No offence meant."

"None taken," he murmured, effortlessly lifting her in his arms and setting her upon his horse so that she was sitting across the animal's back. He jumped lightly up behind her and settled himself so that she was leaning against him.

"I am sorry, but I think it will be best if you hold onto me. Sliding off will do you more damage than riding your own horse."

She hesitated, and he did not entirely understand the reason.

"I know this is not easy for you," he said, resting his arm around her waist so that she did not suddenly slide off the horse while she hesitated. "Please believe that I do not think any less of you because you are injured and need my help. You are one of the bravest warriors I have ever encountered."

Still she hesitated, and he was at a loss for what else to say. Eventually she stirred and in the voice of one who is not sure if she is dreaming, she said, "It is not my pride, not entirely; I am afraid that if I once hold onto you, I shall never be able to let go."

He was not sure how to take her statement. A glance into her eyes told him that she was beginning to drift away into the exhaustion brought on by loss of blood. He took hold of her arms and placed them about his waist, making sure her hands gripped each other, then he pillowed her head against his shoulder and positioned the blanket under her injured leg. He spoke softly to Silme and the horse began to walk; through some unspoken animal agreement, Oakapple followed close behind. The smooth, almost gliding gait of the Elven horse soon lulled the warrior to sleep, and the Elf began to hope that he would get her to his people without further damage to the already delicate balance of her life. 

He did not notice for several hours that he was still holding her head against his shoulder, nor that his hand was idly stroking her hair.


	3. Sleeping on Horseback is Not the Same as...

Disclaimer: If you think you recognise anyone, they don't belong to me but to Professor Tolkien. Written for love, not money.

Thankyou to those lovely reviewers, S-Star, Rosie and Laiqalasse! (Too damn right, L, she ain't a Mary-Sue. For a start, I can't use a sword to save my life...)

**Chapter Three**

Sleeping on Horseback is Not the Same as Sleeping in a Bed

It was not quite sunset when they rode into the city of the Elves. As the Prince guided his horse through the streets, word spread of his return, and by the time they reached the House of Healing quite a crowd had gathered to see the Prince and his strange, sleeping passenger. He ignored them all, dismounting and gently lifting the girl down from the horse. She stirred and woke, confusion in her eyes as she took in her surroundings.

"We have reached my home," he told her as he carried her up the steps and into the House of Healing. "You are safe here. The Healers will see to your wounds." As he spoke he looked up to see one of the senior Healers hurrying towards him.

"Your Highness? How may I help you?"

"This girl has been attacked by orcs. She fought bravely, but the creatures have wounded her. I have treated her wounds to the best of my ability, but she has a deep gash in her thigh which will not close; it is beyond my skill to help her, so I have brought her to you."

"I see. Well, if you will follow me, your Highness, I will find a room for your - companion." The Healer crossed the entrance hall and went up the main staircase. The Prince followed her, his heart sinking a little at her reaction when she had noticed that the girl he held in his arms was human. The hesitation when the Healer said 'companion' had only been slight but it had been there. He could not understand why he felt disappointed; he had known all along the reaction they would receive from his people. Why had he hoped it would be any different?

The Healer led him along a corridor to an open door, and stood back to let him carry the girl inside. The room was small and sparsely furnished; there were only a bed, a chair and a small washstand with a ewer and basin. He laid the girl down on the bed, settling her against the pillows before he stood back to let the Healer take a look at her. Now that she was safe and in such pristine surroundings, the bloodstains and battle dirt thrown into sharp relief by the white sheets and walls, she seemed a very forlorn creature; he felt his heart contract with pity for her. She was too young for this.

"Is the thigh wound the only injury?" the Healer asked him in Elvish, but before he could reply the girl on the bed gave a short, scornful laugh.

"I may be injured, and I may not speak Elvish, but I'm not simple. I can answer your questions, if you can ask them in the common tongue."

The Healer smiled and switched to common. "I am sorry. I did not think. I was asking the Prince if the wound to your thigh is your only injury."

The girl shook her head. "The thigh wound is the worst, but there's a slash across my ribs and probably a few other cuts and bruises that I haven't noticed yet. And my muscles ache, but that's probably from riding a horse side-on all day." She shot a sidelong glance at the Prince, who had to smother a laugh at her attempt to cover up her discomfiture at the weakness she thought she had shown.

"My apologies. I saw no other way of getting you to safety. Besides," he smiled innocently, "you were no burden. You slept almost all the way."

Her scowl told him that he would pay later for that piece of teasing; she had no chance to exact her revenge now, for the Healer had knelt at the bedside and was unlacing the girl's breeches to take a look at the thigh wound. Producing a small knife, the Healer slit the bandage and peeled it away, frowning at the sight of the wound. Fresh blood was still welling up in a slow, persistent ooze, and the edges of the wound now looked swollen and inflamed.

"Well," she said, "the best thing to do, I think, would be to clean the wound thoroughly. The herbs His Highness used to treat it have done their job and should now be removed; then I will apply some more herbs and a healing salve to it, and stitch it closed. I know," she added, seeing the warrior girl's poorly concealed expression of horror, "it sounds drastic, but it is the only way I can see to make sure the wound stays closed. Then I shall treat your other wounds, and after that I am sure you would be glad of a bath?"

The girl nodded slowly. A bath? She could not remember the last time she had had a bath. The closest she got on the road was the occasional quick dip in a river or lake, if the opportunity presented itself.

"Very well then. I shall fetch the supplies I need, and ask the apprentices to begin drawing a bath for you." The Healer stood up and left the room, her skirts swishing purposefully around her as she walked.

The girl gave a quiet laugh, utterly devoid of humour. "She doesn't like me," she observed.

"I do not think that is the case," said the Prince, sensing that she needed reassurance. "I think she was a little taken aback to find me bringing a human to her for healing; it is not often we are visited by your people. And I think you may have surprised her with the way you spoke to me. Did you not notice how pointedly she referred to me as 'His Highness' after you made that comment about the journey?"

"I noticed it all right. I'm sorry; I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. I forgot for a moment who you are."

"Don't be sorry. Most of the people here are so unbearably formal with me, it is a breath of fresh air to speak with someone who is not minding their every word. Besides, I thought we had decided to be friends?" He raised one eyebrow and was gratified to see her smile. "Good. Now, you must not let the brisk manner of our Healers put you off; they have kind hearts and will take care of you the best they can."

"I suppose so." She did not sound convinced, but the Healer returned at that moment bearing a tray of jars and bottles, so the Prince did not have the chance to reassure her more.

"Now then, let's get that wound of yours clean," said the Elven lady. "I'm sorry, my lord. I must ask you to leave." She cut off the Prince's protest with a wave of her hand. "If Your Highness does not mind, all Healers work better without an audience to disturb the patient. I am sure your father would like to hear that you have returned?"

The Prince knew better than to argue any further. "When you put it like that, how can I refuse?" he smiled. Turning back to his new friend, he caught a look of mute appeal in her eyes, hastily veiled. Of course; she was afraid of being left alone in this unfamiliar place, with someone she was sure did not like her tending to her wounds. He smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry. You're in safe hands; far safer than mine. I promise I'll come back and see you later, when I have spoken with my father. Will that do?"

"I'll be all right," she said, a brittle tone of bravery in her voice. "Go on. You've got things to do. Horses to see to, for a start. Don't let Oakapple play you up."

"I won't. Silme will keep him in line. I'll see you later." He smiled at her from the doorway, feeling a sudden desire to go to her, to ruffle her hair or something. She looked so apprehensive...but the Healer was there, waiting for him to leave so that she could begin to treat the girl's wounds. Besides, the little spitfire would not thank him for treating her like an invalid. He lifted a hand in farewell and turned away, heading down the corridor to the stairs.

The warrior felt a pang of regret as he left, the one person she could call friend in this strange place. Now she was utterly alone; well, she could handle that, she was used to it. She settled herself back against the pillows as the Healer set out the things she would need on the washstand.

"Don't worry," said the Healer. "I shall explain to you each step of the process, so you shall know exactly what I am doing. First, I must numb the area around the wound; it will feel cold as it goes on but soon you won't feel a thing." She took a pot from the washstand and removed the lid, scooping out a handful of white cream. She rubbed it into the area around the wound and the girl felt her whole thigh gradually becoming numb. She grimaced at the strange feeling, but at least the sword slash no longer hurt.

The Elven lady picked up the ewer of water from the washstand and poured some out into the basin, washing the ointment off her hands. She then took up a small pad of cloth and dampened it with some cloudy liquid from a bottle. "This is to clean away the dried blood and clear the wound so that I can remove the herbs the Prince put there for you." As she spoke, she was dabbing at the blood around the wound and the girl watched as it seemed to melt away and disappear. The wound began to look cleaner, but no less alarming. The two edges of skin seemed to peel apart and gape again, showing the tangled mess of leaves inside. The Healer picked up a pair of tweezers and a small ceramic bowl. "This may well hurt even through the numbing ointment; I would advise you to brace yourself, and to look away. It will not be a pretty sight."

"I'm all right. I've seen worse."

"But not in your own flesh, I'm sure. Still, if you want to watch I won't stop you." The Healer began to pick out the bloodstained leaves and place them in the bowl. "I know it does not look as though these have done you much good, but believe me, they have in all probability saved your life. Without the Prince's treatment, you would have bled to death before infection even had a chance to set in; even if you had survived that long, the infections would have killed you. You were lucky that he found you."

The girl nodded but did not answer, being too busy gritting her teeth against the pain making its way through the numbness in her leg. She concentrated on watching the tweezers pluck away at the wound, feeling a rather morbid fascination. It seemed to take hours for the Healer to remove all the herbs to her satisfaction, but at last she stopped and reached for another pad of cloth and the bottle of cloudy liquid. This time she poured the liquid over the wound and mopped it away with the cloth.

"There. All clean. Now I shall put some of this healing salve into the wound; it is a concentrate made from the herbs the Prince used, among other things. Then I shall stitch the wound closed and give you some more of the numbing ointment to ease the pain until your skin settles down a little." She worked as she spoke, and the girl felt an obscure sensation of pride that she did not look away once, not even when the Healer sewed the two edges of the wound together with tiny, fine stitches, the needle sliding with almost painless ease through her skin.

"You will have a scar, I am afraid, but it will be a relatively neat one. You were lucky it was I that met you when the Prince brought you in; not all of the Healers can stitch as neatly as I." She smiled kindly, and the warrior smiled back. Perhaps her initial judgement of this she-Elf had been a little hasty.

As the Healer finished applying the numbing ointment, another she-Elf put her head around the door. "The bath you requested is ready, Lady," she said.

"Thank you, my dear," the Healer replied, washing her hands again. "Now, young lady, I must just see to that cut you say you have on your ribs, and then you may go and have your bath. Will you take off your shirt for me, please?"

The girl hesitated momentarily, but reminded herself that it was no use feeling embarrassed. If she wanted to have her wounds seen to, she would have to take her clothes off. And at least the Healer was female. She peeled off her shirt and fixed her gaze on the wall as the Healer slit the bandage around her ribs and inspected the injury beneath it.

"This one is not so bad. All it needs is a clean and some of the healing salve rubbing into it." Suiting the action to the words, the Healer quickly cleaned and treated the wound. When she had finished she stood up and tidied everything she had used back onto the tray. She handed the girl a long white robe. "Put this on instead of your clothes; you will find it easier to move about in. I shall return in a moment and take you to your bath." With that, she gathered up her tray and left the room, shutting the door behind her. The girl stiffly manoeuvred herself off the bed and removed her remaining clothes, folding them neatly and placing them on the chair. She wrapped the robe around herself and sat back down on the bed, waiting for the Healer to return.

She did not have to wait long; soon the Elf returned, knocking on the door before she entered.

"Ah! You are ready. Good. Please follow me." She ushered the girl out of the room and set off down the corridor, adjusting her pace to that of her patient, who was finding it difficult to limp at much more than a snail's pace. Luckily the bathroom was only a few doors down; secretly the warrior was not sure if she could have made it much further. The Healer ushered her into the room and she was greeted by the most welcome sight she thought she had ever seen. A large bath stood on clawed feet in the middle of the room; it was filled with gently steaming water which, on closer inspection, proved to be swirling with clouds of different colours and giving off the most delicious aroma. The girl inhaled deeply and felt soothed at once. The Healer smiled. "The water has been mixed with certain herbal and mineral concoctions which will help to relax your muscles and heal your cuts and bruises. I recommend a long soak; it is very effective. Would you like me to stay and wash your hair for you?"

The warrior hesitated, considering the offer. A part of her wanted to snap that she was perfectly capable of washing her own hair and would rather be left on her own; but the rest of her remembered the Prince's words of the day before. "Enjoy being waited on," he had told her, and she had to admit that she was rather enjoying the novelty of not having to depend on herself for everything.

"It's very relaxing," the Healer smiled. "You look as though you could do with a little bit of looking after."

"I suppose I could," the warrior smiled back. "Please, I would like it if you would wash my hair. I only hesitated because I'm not used to anyone doing anything for me."

"It will be a pleasure," said the Healer, turning away to select some bottles from a shelf on the wall. The warrior slipped off the robe and climbed rather awkwardly into the bath; once she had managed to get her injured leg as well as her good one over the edge, she lowered herself into the water with a gasp as the warmth enveloped her.

"This is marvellous!" she exclaimed, leaning back and submerging herself up to the neck.

"I should think you are feeling better already," smiled the Elf. "Now, if you will sit up to allow me to wash your hair, you can lean back and rest all you want while your hair dries." The girl obeyed, sitting forward and unbraiding her hair, then tilting her head back so that the Elf could wet her hair. Soon the Healer was rubbing a soft, sweet-smelling soap into her scalp and through her hair, and the gentle massaging was threatening to send her to sleep. When her hair was rinsed clean, the Elf took a towel and squeezed out the worst of the water, then bade her lie back again as she arranged the hair to hang down over the edge of the bath to dry.

"There," she said, "now you may rest a while. Don't fall asleep! I shall come back in a little while with some dinner for you, and then you shall go to bed. Sleeping on horseback is not the same as sleeping in a bed, and you need a decent night's sleep."

The warrior did not have the energy to argue. She simply smiled at her nurse and thanked her quietly, leaning back and closing her eyes. When she opened them, she was alone in the room. She looked about her, for the first time noticing that this room was not as bare and functional as the room in which she had been treated. There was a thick carpet on the floor in a rich shade of burgundy, and the shelves, cupboards and washstand which lined the walls were made of some shining dark wood. A mirror hung on the wall, its frame of the same wood as the furniture, carved into a beautiful flowing design which, if she looked hard enough, she could also see decorating the cupboard doors and the legs of the washstand. The walls were painted a warm creamy colour and across from the door to the corridor another pair of doors stood slightly open behind a gauzy curtain of a similar creamy shade which billowed gently in the breeze. She thought she could make out a balcony through the doors, which appeared to be mostly glass; the last rays of sunset were spilling in and lending the room a warm, comforting glow. Suddenly she found she could hardly keep her eyes open, so she closed them and inhaled again the sweet scent of the bath water. The numbing ointment on her wound was beginning to wear off, but somehow the pain felt more remote, as if the treatment it had received were already beginning to work. She thought of the Healer's words, that the Prince had saved her life by binding her wound with those herbs as soon as he did. It seemed that she owed him her life twice over; somehow that thought did not bother her as much as it had the day before. He had been unfailingly kind to her, was even calling her friend, and somehow it felt right. The thought occurred to her that the distressing, confusing feelings she had towards him no longer seemed such a disaster. She laughed to herself. Whatever was in this bath was obviously softening her mind as well as relaxing her body. Falling in love with an Elven Prince was definitely still a disaster, but she felt confident that she could cut those feelings off and forget about them. She had made a new friend, that was all.

She was almost asleep by the time the Healer came back for her, bearing towels and a long white shift laced with ribbons up the sides. "Are you ready to get out of your bath yet?" she asked.

"I think I'd better be. I'm falling asleep."

"Very well. Here is a towel." She held up a large white towel and the girl climbed out of the bath, rather less awkwardly than when getting in, and wrapped herself in it. When she had dried herself off, the Healer shook out the shift and handed it to her. "I have brought you something to wear in bed; the ribbons are so that we can check your wounds more easily."

The girl slipped the shift over her head and put her robe back on over the top. She was about to twist her hair out of the way when the Healer laid a hand on her arm.

"Would you like me to comb and braid that for you?"

"If you wouldn't mind, I would like it very much." She was beginning to recover her manners now that she was clean and rested. She stood patiently while the Elf fetched a comb from the cupboard and gently combed out her hair, braiding it into a thick plait down her back.

"There. Much better. Now, come with me; there is some food waiting for you in your room."

Back in her room, the warrior discovered a tray with three or four small dishes on it. She got into the bed and settled herself in a sitting position with the tray on her lap before beginning to investigate her dinner. The Healer stood by the door, smiling warmly.

"Leave the tray outside your door when you are finished, and someone will take it away. Then put out the lamp and go to sleep."

"All right. Thank you. For everything, I mean. You've been very kind."

"I am a Healer. It's my job," the Elf smiled. "Sleep well." She shut the door behind her.

Dinner turned out to be some chicken in a creamy sauce, a couple of bread rolls, and a dish of fruit; all simple fare for invalids, but after weeks of eating whatever she could catch, it seemed like a feast. She ate it all, washing it down with a glass of water from the carafe which had appeared, along with a small oil lamp, on the washstand, then she put the tray outside the door and got back into bed. As she lay down she remembered that the Prince had said that he would come back and see her when he had finished talking to his father; she must stay awake until he came. She fought to keep her eyes open, but sleep overtook her almost immediately.

Some time later, the door to her room opened and closed quietly and a figure slipped into the room. Coming to stand by her bed, the Prince gazed down at her sleeping form, lit softly by the lamp that she had forgotten to blow out. She was sound asleep, a peaceful expression smoothing her features. No longer did the aura of long years of hardship and struggle make her seem old beyond her years. "So young, yet so brave," he thought, noting the lines of pain still etched upon her face and the deep shadows beneath her eyes. She had kicked the covers out of their pristine order, and one foot poked out from under them. He smiled affectionately and gently straightened the covers, tucking her foot safely away beneath them. He did not think she would have nightmares tonight. Reaching down, he brushed a stray strand of hair out of her face, then he blew out the lamp and left her to sleep in peace.


	4. Perfectly Capable of Walking

Author's Note: I realise the stuff about Elven healing probably isn't canon, but I figure that since this is a little AU all of my own, I'm entitled to play just a little bit!

Thanks to Becki and Laiqalasse for the beta job, and those lovely reviewers, Lalaith and LegolasLuver123!

Disclaimer: If you think you recognise anyone, they don't belong to me but to Professor Tolkien. Written for love, not money.

**A Grain of Truth**

Chapter 4: Perfectly Capable of Walking

She awoke with a start. She had not meant to fall asleep; how long had she been out? The bright sunlight streaming through a gap in the curtains gave her her answer. She had slept right through until morning, and if the Prince had visited her, she had missed him. She swallowed her disappointment. She did not wish to think about it.

Glancing at the washstand, she noticed that the oil lamp was no longer burning. She was sure she had not blown it out before falling asleep, for she had been intending to wait for the Prince. Nor had it burned down and gone out; the wick was still long. Somebody must have come in and blown it out. She could not quite suppress the warmth around her heart at the thought that it might have been the Prince.

She lay still for a while, inwardly noting the improvements in her injuries. Her muscles did not ache as much, and the small cuts and bruises no longer stung, although she had no doubt that when she got out of bed they would begin to trouble her again. The cut across her ribs only smarted slightly, and a dull throb and a feeling of stiffness were the only immediate evidence that the slash in her thigh was still there. The Elven medicine seemed to be working; she would soon be on her way again. She ignored the inner voice that said what a shame it would be to leave so soon.

There was a soft knock at the door, and a she-Elf poked her head into the room. "Oh good, you're awake. Did you sleep well?"

"Like the dead. No pun intended, I hope." The warrior managed a small laugh, and the she-Elf smiled. 

"It certainly doesn't look like it. I'll tell the Lady you're awake." She retreated and closed the door behind her. A few minutes later, the Healer herself came in. She looked the warrior over and noted with approval that her long sleep had erased some of the pain and fatigue from her face. Still, she was far from well and would need many more days of bed-rest. Somehow, the Healer did not think that news would go down well.

"You're certainly looking better this morning," she said, briskly. "Let me have a quick look at your wounds, and then we'll think about moving you."

"Moving me?" The warrior looked confused.

"Yes, moving you. This is just a treatment room; now that we've treated you, we'll be moving you to one of the convalescent rooms upstairs. They're rather more comfortable than this one."

"Convalescent rooms? But I'm better. You said so yourself."

"Not quite, my dear. I said you're looking better. You've got a way to go yet. You lost a lot of blood, remember? You need complete bed-rest for a few days, I'm afraid." She had to suppress a smile at the warrior's horrified expression. "Don't worry, I'm sure we'll be able to find you plenty of things to do so you won't get bored. Now, let's see those injuries." Her tone brooked no argument, and so the warrior dutifully did as she was told, pushing back the covers and unlacing the ribbons at the side of her nightgown.

The Healer was brisk and businesslike, inspecting the wounds and pronouncing herself satisfied as to their progress. The warrior looked down and was intrigued to see that the slash across her thigh had already closed under the stitches, and the angry inflammation had all but disappeared.

The Healer caught her expression and smiled. "It's the salve I applied that's done that. Remember I said it was made from a concentrate of those leaves the Prince used, along with other things? Now, I think, you see that I was not lying when I told you that those leaves saved your life."

"I didn't doubt you the first time," the warrior said, slightly stung that the Healer had picked up on her uncertainty the previous day. "I remember that it hurt less once the Prince had dressed it. Those leaves are more talented than they look."

"So is the Prince," the Healer smiled, and was amused to see the suggestion of a blush tinting the warrior's pale face. "He has the healing touch, that one, for all he tries to deny it."

"What do you mean?" The warrior's interest was piqued at that. Her education had been rudimentary at best, but she had always loved to learn new things; it was partly why she had chosen the life of a mercenary. She loved to travel, and to meet new people, learn from them and then move on. She had once spent an extremely educational summer in Rohan, riding with the Rohirrim and learning all sorts of riding tricks and techniques that she would never be able to use with the loyal but slow-witted Oakapple.

"The healing touch? Ah, forgive me, little one, I had forgotten that you know very little of our kind. Let me just summon you some breakfast, and then I shall tell you while you eat." She rose and went to the door, hailing a passing apprentice and speaking to her in Elvish. It was a pretty tongue, the warrior decided, listening in utter incomprehension. Very lyrical and flowing, nothing like the Westron she had grown up speaking. There was so much to learn here...suddenly a long convalescence did not seem like such a bad idea after all.

The Healer returned to the bedside and redressed the warrior's wounds, relacing the nightgown and replacing the covers over her. A soft knock sounded at the door, and at the Healer's reply another she-Elf came in bearing a tray which she set down upon the washstand. The Healer spoke again, presumably thanking the apprentice, and the she-Elf bobbed a little curtsey and left the room, closing the door again behind her.

The warrior reached up and grasped the tray, bringing it carefully round to rest on her lap without spilling anything. It was a far cry from her breakfast of the previous morning; there was a bowl filled with sliced apples, cherries and plums, a plate holding two bread rolls and a tiny pat of butter, and a glass of cold, creamy milk. She was about to tuck in, suddenly realising how hungry she was, when she remembered her manners.

"Would you like some?" she offered, pushing the tray towards the Healer. Her nurse smiled and shook her head.

"Do not worry about me, little one. I breakfasted earlier this morning, before I began my duties. That tray is all for you. Now, eat up while I tell you a little about Elven healing."

The warrior obeyed, secretly relieved that she was not expected to share, for her stomach was painfully empty.

The Healer smiled to see that her charge's appetite had not been affected by her ordeal, and began to speak.

"Healing is a talent among our people; like archery or riding or swordsmanship, it comes in degrees. All Elves are taught at least a little of the craft, and those with a lesser degree of talent will use it when they need it in their everyday lives. The most talented of us become Healers, after long apprenticeships learning the craft. It is, of course, possible for someone to have no gift for healing at all, but they will always know the basic techniques they have been taught."

"So it's possible for someone to know what to do, like knowing the right way to handle a bow, but still not be any good at it?"

"It is indeed," the Healer smiled, pleased that her analogy had caught the warrior's attention. "I spoke earlier of the 'healing touch'. That is part of the talent, for it is not just a matter of knowing what to do. A truly gifted Healer can heal by touch alone, although they are few and far between. The rest of us use the salves and herbs given us by the Valar and couple them with the healing touch, to make them work better. Not all of us choose to use our gift by becoming Healers, though. Some of our best warriors have possessed the touch, and have been extremely useful on the field of battle, as I am sure you can understand."

The warrior nodded emphatically. She had been in many battles where someone with the gift of healing would have come in very handy.

"In fact," the Healer continued, "you have first-hand experience of how useful someone like that can be. Our Prince is one of those who is so gifted, although the talent is not as strong in him as it is in most of our Healers. Besides, I do not think it is considered a fitting career for a Prince, not to mention that his talent for archery and the other crafts of a warrior does rather surpass his talent for healing."

"I noticed that part," the warrior remarked, washing down the last mouthful of her breakfast.

Now it was the Healer's interest that was piqued. "If you do not mind my asking, how exactly did you come to meet the Prince? He didn't mention anything beyond the fact that you had been attacked by Orcs when he brought you in, and after that I was too preoccupied with treating you to ask him."

The warrior rolled her eyes. "It's embarrassing. I was doing all right against the Orcs, but once I took the sword to the thigh I started to flag. The last one would have finished me off if the Prince hadn't shot it. Twice. In the middle of the fight. If he wasn't as talented as you say, he'd have spitted me instead." She smiled ruefully. "Bit of a narrow escape."

The Healer patted her arm reassuringly. "There is no fault or embarrassment to be found in becoming injured. It was just bad luck for you - as it was good luck that it was our Prince who found you, and not a less-skilled archer." She could almost taste the warrior's self-disgust at her perceived weakness, and had to bite back a smile as she wondered how much of the girl's embarrassment was due to the fact that it had been the particularly handsome, kind and charming Prince who had rescued her. She would have to be blind, she thought, not to notice the way the two were beginning to feel about each other, although it was plain that neither of them had realised it yet. She offered a quick prayer to the Valar that no harm should come to either the Prince or his new-found friend through the circumstances in which they had found themselves. It had been she who had trained the Prince to use his gift for healing, when he was little more than an Elfling, and she loved him as she would love a son of her own. And she found, much to her surprise, that she was becoming uncommonly fond of this prickly young human female, though fondness was not something she usually felt for the race of Men. 

Collecting her thoughts, she took the tray from the warrior's lap and replaced it on the washstand. "Come along then," she said briskly, "time to see about moving you upstairs. Put your robe on and I shall carry you up to your new room."

The warrior's expression became mutinous. "I'm perfectly capable of walking," she said, her tone a little sharper than she had intended. By way of amendment, she added, "and anyway, I'm heavier than I look."

"And I am stronger than I look," the Healer countered. "Besides, you have lost a lot of blood, and your strength is not what it should be. I do not wish for you to set yourself back by climbing four flights of stairs."

"I'll be all right. I've faced worse foes than four flights of stairs. Truly, I would rather walk. Please," she added, and the Healer could not help but be touched by the pleading look in the proud eyes. She understood how much this girl's pride meant to her, and so she conceded, although not without some misgivings.

"Very well, you may walk, but only on condition that you allow me to walk beside you, and that you rest on every landing. And that you go straight to bed when you reach your room."

The warrior opened her mouth to protest, but thought better of it. The Healer's tone brooked no further argument, and the warrior's common sense told her that here was someone as determined as she herself was. Obediently, she swung her legs stiffly over the side of the bed and put on the robe that the Healer was holding out to her. Using the nightstand for leverage, she slowly got to her feet, standing still until she felt she had her balance enough to be able to walk unaided. With the Healer by her side, she slowly limped from the room and along the corridor towards the stairs. Luckily, the steps were broad and shallow, and there was a banister running up the length of the staircase, onto which the warrior clung like grim death as she made her laborious way up towards the first landing. It was more difficult than she had anticipated, each step requiring an heroic effort, but she was determined not to show any weakness. She would do her race credit before the critical eyes of these Elves, as friendly as the Healer had turned out to be.

Upon reaching the landing between the first and second floors, she sank down onto the waiting bench with barely disguised relief, suddenly glad that her nurse had insisted that she rest after each flight of stairs. Hiding a smile, the Healer sat down beside her and waited for her to catch her breath. They sat in companionable silence until the warrior decided she had rested enough, and hauled herself to her feet to recommence her journey.

Another flight of stairs brought them to the second floor, and the Healer guided her to a bench just across the hallway. "Just two more flights," she promised. "The convalescent rooms are on the third floor, and the windows have beautiful views. Which you will discover *after* you have had some rest," she added, forestalling any ideas her charge might have had about exploring as soon as she reached her room.

The second two flights seemed steeper and more arduous than the first, and the warrior had to rest longer on the second landing; much to her dismay, she also found that once she had reached the top of the final flight, she could go no further than the bench opposite the head of the stairs. Cursing her weakness, she sat down heavily, refusing to meet the Healer's eyes.

Sensing the warrior's dismay, the Healer patted her on the shoulder. "I should go and check that all is ready for you. Wait here; I won't be a moment." She set off down the hallway, leaving the warrior feeling touched by her unlooked-for kindness.

After a few minutes, during which she had waited just inside the door of the warrior's already well-prepared room, the Healer returned to find the girl just deciding that she had regained enough strength to make it down the corridor. Resisting the temptation to offer the girl her arm, she stood back and waited patiently for her charge to struggle to her feet. They made their way slowly down the corridor and into the convalescent room, the warrior having to concentrate solely on putting one foot in front of the other. The Healer drew back the bedcovers and the girl sank gratefully into the bed, too exhausted even to take off her robe. The Healer covered her over and drew the curtains, and by the time she turned back, the warrior had fallen asleep. The Healer shook her head. It had done the girl's self-esteem some good to walk unaided to her room, but it remained to be seen whether she had set her body's healing back by her stubbornness. Hopefully a few hours' sleep would go some way towards remedying her exhaustion. The Elven lady slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.

She was making her way down to the dispensary on the ground floor when she met the Prince coming up the stairs. She had to hide a smile at the way he tried not to look too eager as he asked her how the warrior girl was doing.

"Her wounds are healing nicely. She has had some breakfast, and I have just moved her up to one of the convalescent rooms on the top floor." She laid a hand on the Prince's arm, checking him as he made to go upstairs. "Not yet, my lord. She is sleeping at the moment. I shall be waking her later so that she can eat some lunch, and you may see her after she has eaten. Not before!" she added, sensing that he was about to try to persuade her otherwise. His face fell and an expression of concern shadowed his eyes.

"She is truly all right?" he asked.

"She will be fine," she reassured him. "She will need complete bed rest for a few days, but she should soon be up and about again. Come back a little after noon, and you may see her then."

A look of relief crossed the Prince's face, and he smiled. "Thank you. I shall get out from under your feet until noon, then." He accompanied the Healer down the stairs, and she watched as he crossed the hall, turning in the doorway to raise a hand to her in farewell. Smiling, the Healer headed for the infirmary to resume her duties, wondering how long it would take this oddly-matched couple to realise what had happened to them. 


	5. We Look After Our Friends, For It Is The...

Well, here's chapter 5. Sorry it's taken so long!

Thanks to Lalaith and LegolasLuver123 for the scrummy reviews, and as always, Laiqalasse and Becki for betaing and encouragement.

Disclaimer: Tolkien's, not mine. Written for love, not money.

  
  
  
**A Grain of Truth  
Chapter 5: We Look After Our Friends, For It Is They Who Look After Us**

Precisely at the moment the sun reached its zenith, the Elven Prince strode up the steps of the House of Healing and into the cool hallway. He cast about him, looking for the Healer, and was gratified to see her descending the main staircase. She smiled when she saw him, a slightly odd expression in her eyes, but he did not have time to wonder at it before she reached him.

"You are early, my lord. I said a little _after_ noon, not right on the dot! Your friend is still sleeping; I was about to go and wake her up to eat her lunch. She should be ready to see you in about half an hour."

The Prince found himself having to hide an expression of disappointment at this. Schooling his thoughts, he allowed the Healer to direct him to a window seat where he could wait. Once she had seen that he was settled, she disappeared in the direction of the kitchens, leaving the Prince alone with his thoughts.

He was soon able to convince himself that he was disappointed by the delay simply because he wanted to see for himself that the warrior was all right. She had seemed so small and vulnerable the last time he had seen her...he cut off that train of thought without really knowing why. He could not quite understand why he was so concerned about this human. He respected her courage and her skill with a sword, and had come to like her sharp wit and her refreshing lack of deference; he had meant it when he said he hoped they were on the road to becoming friends. But as for why he had woken early, thinking of her peaceful face as she slept...he was not sure that he wanted to know.

Hoping to distract himself from this train of thought, the Prince turned his mind to the conversation he had had with his father the previous evening. He had endured the customary scolding for going off hunting on his own without telling anybody; it had happened many times before and would happen many times again, and both of them knew it. Although most of the time he obediently did his princely duties without a word of complaint, every now and then the routine became too much for him and he had to escape for a few days. It was a long-standing habit and nobody seemed to worry too much about it any more, although his father still found it necessary to give him a talking-to each time he returned.

Once they had been through the motions, the King scolding and the Prince acting suitably penitent, he felt it was time to tell his father about the companion he had brought back with him. Predictably enough, the King had been less than happy about the presence of a human in his city, but once the Prince had explained about her bravery and the fact that Elven healing was the only thing that could save her life, he had relented a little, although he had made it clear that he wanted the girl gone as soon as she was well enough. Given her feelings about Elves, the Prince had thought to himself that his new friend would probably agree. She would not exactly be eager to stay, surrounded by a people about whom she had heard nothing positive in all her life. He had refused to entertain the pang of regret he had felt at that.

Sighing, the Prince gazed out of the window at the gardens in front of the House of Healing. Somehow today every thought he had came back to the brave human girl currently lying upstairs in still-indifferent health. The Healer's reassurances had gone some way towards easing his worries, but he would not be certain until he saw her condition for himself. And even when he did, he would still have to deal with the worrying confusion he felt every time he thought of her.

  
Upstairs, the warrior was floating gently towards awakening when the noise of the door being opened brought her to full consciousness. Her reflexes told her to sit up and go for the knife she always kept by her head as she slept, but her muscles would not obey, and once her brain kicked in she remembered that she was in no danger, and her knife was not there anyway. Rubbing her eyes, she turned to see the Healer bringing another tray in, and struggled to sit up.

"How long have I been asleep?" she queried, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. She remembered the arduous journey up the stairs, but she had no recollection of the room she found herself in; she must have fallen into bed and gone to sleep straight away.

"A few hours," the Healer replied. "It is just past noon, and I have brought you something more to eat. How are you feeling?"

"Tired, and all my muscles ache, but no worse than I did earlier. And I'm starving, though all I've done is sleep since I last ate."

"Sleep and climb four flights of stairs," the Healer amended for her. "Besides, you are recovering from some very nasty injuries; your body needs food to fuel the healing process. Here," she placed the tray on the warrior's lap and crossed the room to open the curtains, "eat this, and I shall return in a few minutes to take the tray. Then, once you have eaten, there is somebody who would like to see you."

Try as she might, the warrior could not entirely keep the surprised happiness she felt at that statement from showing on her face. She had to admit to herself that she had been hoping that the Prince would come back and see her, since she had fallen asleep and missed him the previous night. But it would not do to let this kind Elven-lady see her feelings. She had no business wishing to see her rescuer; she was lucky he had cared enough to bring her to a place of healing. Further contact was not to be looked for. Fearing the Healer's disapproval, she wiped her face clear of any expression and managed to produce a suitably deferential reply.

"That's very kind of His Highness," she murmured, not daring to look up, and so missing the kindly smile on the face of the Healer as she retreated into the corridor, closing the door behind her.

The warrior gave herself a firm mental shake and settled down to eat her lunch. Much to her dismay her stomach was now tying itself in knots at the thought of seeing the Prince, and her appetite had all but deserted her. Sighing in frustration, she resisted the temptation to throw something across the room and instead took a drink of milk from the glass on the tray and surveyed the rest of her meal. More fruit, another bread roll, some cold chicken, lettuce and tiny, sweet tomatoes. She was beginning to revise her opinion of Elves; they were certainly feeding her well.

Taking one of the tomatoes, she put it in her mouth and bit down, feeling it pop between her teeth and spill its sweet juice over her tongue. It had been a long time since she had eaten tomatoes, and she ate another one, having a good look around the room as she did so. It was the first time she had been in a fit state to take in her new surroundings, and she was impressed to find that the room was even nicer than the bathing chamber downstairs. It was decorated in a similar way, with warm cream walls and plenty of carved panelling, but the carpet and curtains were a rich emerald green; another gauze curtain hung over the long window, admitting more than enough light to show a small balcony outside. A small table stood on one side of the bed, a large armchair on the other, and a washstand in the corner, next to a tall cupboard. Opposite the bed were a dressing table and mirror, and a bookshelf containing a few slim, leather-bound volumes. Altogether it was a very comfortable room in which to convalesce, certainly more comfortable than any room in which she had ever spent the night before. The bed was firm and the eiderdown and pillows soft and warm and seeming to beckon her back down into their embrace. But she was not ready to sleep again, not just yet, tired as she still felt. Glancing down at the tray, she was surprised to see that she had finished her meal without really noticing as she took in her surroundings; she placed the tray on the table and settled back against the pillows to await the reappearance of the Healer. 

After a few moments, that lady put her head around the door. "All finished? Good. There's somebody here to see you. Let me just get rid of that tray for you, and I'll let him in."

The warrior resisted the temptation to dig her fingernails into her palms; she wasn't nervous, not at all. She thanked the Healer, who laughed.

"No, it's us who should be thanking you. He's been hanging around since noon, waiting to see you, getting under all our feet. It'll be a relief to get him out of the way." She was hard put to it not to laugh out loud at the thunderstruck expression on the warrior's face, mentally marking up another confirmation of her Elven intuition as she left the room, tray in hand.

A moment or two later there was a knock at the door, and the warrior called "Come in!" before she could think about it and get flustered. The Prince did as he was told, closing the door behind him and turning to face her, giving her a long look over. 

"How are you feeling?"

"Much better," she replied, remembering to add, "thankyou," and the Prince smiled. She certainly looked better; the colour had returned to her face and she no longer looked so exhausted.

The warrior soon grew uncomfortable with being stared at and broke the somewhat awkward silence. "Please, sit down," she said, gesturing towards the armchair. "You're making me nervous, just standing there."

"Sorry. I'm just relieved to see you looking better," the Prince explained, moving round to the other side of the bed and settling himself in the chair. Well, he thought to himself, it was true, wasn't it? He made no further effort at conversation after sitting down, and the warrior suspected that he was set fair for another round of staring at her, though why, she didn't know, so she grasped at the first topic of conversation that came to mind.

"How did you get on with your father last night?"

The Prince laughed. "Same as ever. He told me off for going off hunting on my own, I hung my head and said I was sorry, we patched it all up. It happens quite often."

"Did he - did he say anything about me?" She really was nervous now; it had been something she'd been trying not to think about, but she had to ask. She wanted to be prepared for being thrown out as soon as was convenient.

"He wasn't too pleased at first, but he warmed up when I told him how brave you were. He's a great admirer of courage in females, most of the she-Elves at court are silly creatures who are only interested in embroidery. Rather like your friends at home, I would imagine." He grinned, and the warrior laughed, all nerves and awkwardness disappearing.

"I think most females are the same, whichever species they belong to. It's partly why I went off to be a mercenary; I could never get a decent conversation at home. All the girls were too busy talking about dresses, and the boys wouldn't talk to me at all because I was better with a sword than they were." 

"I can imagine. Anyway, my father has no objection to your being here, although I think he'd rather you left once you're fully healed. Which is what you were planning anyway, I suppose?" He tried very hard not to let hope creep into his voice; what was he hoping for, anyway?

The warrior considered for a moment. "I hadn't really thought beyond convalescence, which the Healer lady seems to think is necessary, but I wasn't exactly planning to live out my days among the Elves, if that's what you mean." She looked up at him and was surprised to see - was that disappointment in his eyes, hastily hidden?

"Well, I hadn't exactly expected you to. Still, you won't be going anywhere for a few weeks, not until that wound's fully healed and you've got your strength back."

She looked horrified at that. "A few weeks? But I'm already late returning; my employer will be having kittens. I have to get back as soon as possible."

"I'm sorry. Not after a wound like you've sustained; as soon as possible is going to be several weeks hence, and I think the Healer is sure to agree. I can arrange to have a message sent to your employer, if that will solve matters."

"I suppose it'll have to do." She realised how ungrateful she sounded, and amended quickly. "Not that I'm complaining about you helping me or anything, but I hadn't really planned to be away so long. I meant no offence."

"None taken. I understand. Do you want to write a message now? I believe writing implements are kept in the drawer of the table." 

She investigated the small drawer, and found a quill, an inkwell and a few sheets of parchment. Fishing them out, she turned back to find the Prince handing her a volume to rest on. "Easier than twisting round to use the table," he explained, "although less conducive to tidy writing."

She smiled. "My writing's terrible anyway. My employer won't bother if it's worse than usual." Resting the parchment on the book and the inkstand on the table, she scrawled a brief note to her employer, explaining the situation, then when the ink was dry she folded it up and tucked the ends inside each other. Addressing it quickly, she handed it to the Prince. "I haven't got a seal, but it doesn't contain anything I wouldn't want anyone else to see."

"I'll put mine on it, if you like. Might lend a bit of weight to your story."

"Thanks. I hadn't thought of that. He's a suspicious one, liable to think I've just taken the time off to go drinking or something. Not that I ever do that, or at least, not often and never on a job."

The Prince smiled. "I don't doubt it. You're very dedicated to your job."

The warrior shrugged. "I have to be. It's all I have."

The Prince raised his eyebrows in surprise. "All you have? But what about - what about family, friends?" He could not imagine being alone; all his long life he had been surrounded by the Elves at court, his family and friends and all the servants. 

"My parents are dead; they died when I was twelve. Plague. And I don't have any friends. I told you, the girls are only interested in dresses and men, and the boys, the men, they've no time for a girl who can handle a sword better than they can. I'm all I ever needed."

The Prince felt his heart twist at the bitter loneliness in her voice, and almost without realising it he reached out and took her hand in his. "As long as I draw breath, you will have a friend," he declared. "Nobody should have to live their life completely alone."

She shrugged, but did not pull her hand away; deep inside, she found the Prince's touch strangely comforting. "Some of us don't have the choice," she said, unable to keep the bitterness entirely from her voice. "But I thank you for your friendship, and I offer you mine in return, for what it's worth."

The Prince bowed his head, and with his free hand made the Elven gesture of friendship, placing his hand to his heart and then bringing it forward to cup her face. "The friendship of another is worth everything," he told her, "for it is that which transforms life from a mere task to something in which to rejoice. We Elves learn that lesson early on, and we learn to cherish our friends."

The warrior didn't quite know what to say to that, so she contented herself with squeezing his hand and thanking him; she was beginning to learn what a gift it was for an Elf to grant her their friendship. They sat in companionable silence for a while, their hands still clasped.

Eventually, no longer feeling awkward around the Prince, the warrior gathered together the courage to ask him the question she had been longing to ask since she woke up that morning.

"Last night, after I fell asleep, did you come back to see me?"

The Prince could not help smiling at the memory. "I did; I promised you, did I not? It was you that could not keep your promise." He winked, to show her that he did not mean the reproach that his words carried. "It was late when I managed to escape my father, and in truth I did not expect you to be awake; you had had a very long and exhausting day. The Healer told me you were sleeping, but I had to make sure for myself that you were all right, and that they were looking after you well."

The warrior felt a tiny secret warmth in her heart at his words; here was a true friend, for the first time in her life, somebody who cared enough about her wellbeing to come and check on her when he didn't have to. Her smile was broad and genuine as she looked up and met his eyes. "Thank you. I've received nothing but the best care since you brought me here. I have to admit that I didn't expect it, but the Healer and her apprentices have been very kind. They gave me a bath, and everything. I haven't had a proper bath in months, and I've never had one such as the one that was waiting for me last night. I thought I'd landed in paradise!"

"So you admit that there are some advantages in being cared for by Elves?" the Prince teased, a mischievous smile upon his face.

"I have to," she returned, "for I am enjoying myself too much to deny it. You are making me revise my opinions!"

"I'm glad to hear it! Perhaps if a few of the race of Men knew our true nature, then word could be spread and the two races could enjoy a closer friendship."

The warrior sobered. "I'm sorry about what I said, back in the forest. I'd never met any Elves before, so I only knew what I'd been told. I didn't know any better, but I do now. I promise you, when I return to my people I'll be sure to tell them about the kindness and hospitality I was shown."

"Don't overdo it," laughed the Prince, "or we'll be overrun with Men looking for a holiday away from the cares of their everyday lives. The occasional guest is fine, but can you imagine hordes of your people overrunning us?"

The warrior did not answer straight away, and for a moment the Prince was afraid that he had offended her. But then she laughed, and the relief he felt threatened to overwhelm him.

"I can. And it would be horrible. The beauty of this place is that it is untouched by Men. If we came to visit all the time it would be ruined. I consider myself very lucky." She paused, gathering her courage again. "And I'm especially lucky that I met you. The Healer told me that you saved my life three times over, and for that I thank you from the bottom of my heart."

The Prince stared at her, taken aback by her unexpected words, and she dropped her gaze to the bedspread and their clasped hands. Feeling that she ought to explain, she continued. "You killed that Orc for me; you bound my wound with the herbs that slowed the bleeding and the infection; and you brought me to your home, which I am sure cannot have cost you nothing. Without any or all of those things I should surely have died. You can say what you like about the Elven reverence for life, but to me it's no ordinary thing that someone should go out of his way to help me. I'm used to fending for myself, and it means a great deal that you have bothered to help me, and even more that you have taken the time to come and see me today. I'm sure you've got far more important things to do."

"Nothing so important that it couldn't wait," he said warmly, and watched as a faint blush worked its way up her face. "We look after our friends, for it is they who look after us."

The warrior couldn't speak for a moment, almost overwhelmed by his words. Nobody had looked after her since her parents had died. She was so used to looking out for herself that she no longer expected it in anyone else. But somehow, somehow this felt right. She had a friend, a true friend. She raised her eyes to his again.

"Thank you," she said, and while she still had the courage, she plunged onwards to ask, "Was it you who put my lamp out last night?"

The Prince smiled, again remembering the scene that had greeted him when he looked in on his warrior the previous night. "It was. You were so fast asleep that I did not think you would need it again, and there was no point in leaving it burning all night."

She smiled, trying to cover up the rush of emotion that she felt sure was shining clearly from her face. "Thanks; that's been bothering me all day. I'm - I'm glad it was you, and not somebody I didn't know." 

The Prince squeezed her hand reassuringly. "You will come to know everyone here, I'm sure. You'll be spending enough time around them, after all. And I promise I'll come and see you every day."

"Every day?" The warrior could not make her voice anything but hopeful.

"Every day. Until you're sick of the sight of me, at least."

"Somehow, I can't see that happening." She smiled warmly up at him, and in that moment their friendship was sealed. 


End file.
